NYPD Glee
by polarbear117
Summary: Future Fic, Puck and Rachel patrolling the streets of NY...Puckleberry galore to come! AU, Rating for the next few chapters might go up, so you might have to check the M-section sooner or later, only language though
1. Chapter 1

_Hey y'all. . . somehow I seem to get assaulted by AU-plot bunnies, which incessantly demand that I write them up….which is pretty bad, considering I also gotta write my thesis at the same time ^^_

_Disclaimer: The Characters are not mine, at all._

He heard his feet pounding on the pavement, his breath burning in his lungs.

"Outta the way!" His shout cleared the sidewalk somewhat, nonetheless he was forced to dodge a few slowpokes still in his way. A few meters ahead of him, a small, skinny man was sprinting as fast as possible, ruthlessly shoving people out of his way.

"NYPD! Dammit, Warner, stop runnin'!"

Warner threw a look back, his rat-face paling slightly when he realized, Puck had nearly caught up. In panic, he threw one of the tables of a small street-side cafè to the floor. With a curse, Puck vaulted himself over the obstacle and kept running. A few seconds later he was close enough for a football-tackle from behind…and tackle he did.

With a squeal from Warner's throat and a grunt from Puck's, he tackled Warner to the ground.

Chest heaving, Puck made a mental note to work out more.

"Matthew Warner, you are under arrest for the possession and selling of heroine. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court o' law! You got the right to an attorney, if your fucking broke ass can't provide one, we'll take care of it for ya. Now, you getting' up or do I have to haul your ass downtown myself?!?!" With a deeply satisfied grunt, Detective Second Grade Noah Puckerman of the New York City Police Department straightened himself, pulling the little drug-trafficking weasel with him and towards the dark, inconspicuous Sedan in which his partner was sitting.

* * *

A few hours and a long shower later, Puck found himself sitting in front of his Captain, Louis Vegaz.

"Puckerman, you rowdy son-of-a-gun. That was the fifth bust this week." With a twinkle, Vegaz nodded.

"Good job, son."  
"Thank you, Sir." Puck straightened and preened a little. 10 years with the Force and he still wasn't used to getting praise. A few years ago, he would have laughed out loud at the idea of wearing a uniform. The other side of the coin was more to his liking, he had had his fair share of petty crimes. Luckily enough, he had never been caught. And he probably would have continued to have a lifetime of petty crimes and joblessness back in Lima, if it weren't for June 18 2010, the day his baby-girl was born.

Quinn and him had decided to opt for adoption, knowing that, despite wanting to do so, they were simply unable to provide for a child. So they had named her Madison, and given her to her adoptive parents, eagerly waiting to shower the child with love and devotion.

Puck got to hold his first-born for a scant 2 minutes, in which one look from her curious blue eyes was enough for him to realize that with the crap he had pulled, there was simply no way he deserved to be responsible for something so precious and innocent, not with the way he was busy destroying everything that ever came close to him. He had carefully placed his daughter in her new Dad's arms, kissed Quinn on the forehead and promptly gone to the chapel to bawl his eyes out.

When he returned to school a few days later, Noah was making an appearance and Puck was shoved on the backburner, only to re-emerge when needed. He worked hard, pulled up his grades and kept out of trouble. He attended Maths (the school nurse quit within two weeks, claiming Trigonometry as a reason), he kept his slushie in the cup (both, literally and figuratively), and managed to graduate with a GPA high enough to get him into Ohio State on a scholarship. After getting his degree in Criminology (all those hours watchin' CSI had finally paid off), he had joined the NYPD and steadily risen through the ranks. His superiors were impressed by his ability to just get into a perp's mind (he so wasn't telling them why he did that). After a few years he was transferred to the narcotics-unit under Vegaz and promoted to Detective and was now sweeping the streets of New York from the ever growing scumbags.

When Puck noticed, his boss had asked him a question, he tuned back in.

"Sorry, boss?"

"I said, how would you like a change of scenery?"

"Huh?" With a chuckle, Vegaz shook his head.

"Puckerman, your ugly mutt's becomin' too well known round here. You go down a street in the Bronx, there's more stash goin' down the drain than piss on Mardi-Gras in the Big Easy!" Vegaz' strong southern twang gave everything he said a certain weight.

"What's that supposed to mean boss? I can't work no busts no more or what?" Puck looked enraged. This was his life, he cleaned up as well as he could.

"Easy big fella. I'm sayin' right now, you can't do busts. We gotta take you out of rotation for a little while. Just temporarily though, don't wanna loose my best man."

Puck grunted, wary of any changes to his daily life.

"One PP is looking for someone in the Homicide-Unit. One of theirs apparently turned dirty and nearly got him and his partner killed. He's sittin' in the joint right now, waitin' on trial." Vegaz scowled and Puck felt his anger-levels spike. If there was one thing Cops hated more than usual Criminals, it was a Cop turning into one.

"So, they're requesting one of ours. You're s'posed to report to a Captain James Morgan" Puck couldn't stop snickering, but a look from his boss silenced him. "Monday, 0800. You're partnering up with the one left, the heat's got 'em people goin' crazy, parently people are dyin' left 'n right and homicide's swamped. Here's your paperwork."

Vegaz handed him a manila envelope.

"Boss, no offense, but how long is this shit gonna take?" Puck was rifling through the few sheets of paper.

"No fucking idea, Puckerman. But don't worry, if you wanna come back at the end, you come back, simple as stealin' a baby's lollipop. Now get lost, go do whatever the hell it is you do on a weekend and I'll see ya in a few weeks." Vegaz turned back to his paperwork, the conversation apparently finished. Puck pulled himself up from his chair and left. He was used to Vegaz-style, it reminded him a little of Tanaka, 'cept, well, Coach had no fucking clue what he was doing. Vegaz could probably kick his ass if he wanted to.

On Monday, 0800 on the dot, Puck knocked on the door of his new Captain, James Morgan. He was still wondering why the fuck someone would hate someone so much, they'd promote them to captain with a name like that and make them a laughing stock for everyone else.

A rough voice shouted Enter, and Puck felt himself involuntarily straightening.

"Sir, I'm Detective Puckerman, I was sent here from narcotics." Puck had quickly realized that, both in interrogations and talks with a superior the same rules applied. Never show what you're feeling, always know what you're up against, and you get the best answers when you don't ask questions.

The man greeting him in the office managed to make the desk look tiny. When he stood, his hand stretched out, Noah easily saw that he was at least one and a half heads taller than the Detective and built like a line-backer. Morgan was wearing his Uniform, making him look even more imposing. His hair was cut short and had streaks of grey woven through it, though most of it still retained its dark black colour, giving him a more distinguished look. A bushy moustache was resting below a strong nose, and piercing blue eyes peered at him from underneath equally bushy brows. Puck felt himself straightening even more and resisted the impulse to turn and run. Mystery solved. Puck was willing to bet his badge that Morgan would not have stood for getting any jokes on his expense.

"So you are Puckerman, huh?" Puck felt as if someone would X-Ray him.

"Yes, Sir."

"Why'd Vegaz send you of all people?" The question was laden with implications.

"Well, Sir, my face became too known in the local drug-areas." Good Puckerman, just play it cool, one sentence answers.

"So, you too good, huh?" Puck gulped. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Saying yes would be arrogant, saying no would be idiotic.

"Just good enough, Sir." Obviously he had managed to appease the mountain of a man sitting before him. With a grunt, Morgan leaned back. Puck kept staring at the wall behind him.

"So, you heard the story?" Morgan was fishing, but for the life of him, Puck couldn't figure out for what.

"Just briefly, Sir." Fucking Hell, he hadn't been this nervous since Maddie's birth!

"The basics are as follows. Rogers and his Partner investigating, Rogers got paid, Partner nearly got killed. Perps got angry, Rogers got scared and went under. Found him a few weeks ago in a Motel, drunk as a skunk. Spilled the whole story." Morgan sneered with disgust. Puck tried to remain indifferent, not quite knowing what he was supposed to say.

"That's all you gotta know. Now, you bug that partner of his for details or you make any snide comments, I'm gonna take you out like the trash on garbage day, we clear?" The moustache quivered in barely suppressed anger.

"Yes, Sir!" Puck couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor dude partnered with Rogers. Losing a partner to a bullet was pure hell, he couldn't even imagine the feeling of losing your partner to money.

"Now, here's your first case. Some uptown trust-fund duckling was found dead this morning. I got the parents all over my ass, so make it quick, but make it stick!" He threw a file on the desk. Puck grabbed it and opened it, just as a knock sounded on the door behind him.

God, this was awful. He had seen bodies before, had seen what heroine, crack and all that other crap can do to a human body, melt away half the nose, rotten the teeth, make them lose fingers and all kinds of shit. But this, this was almost worse in its banality, the simple gunshot-wound to the head so much cleaner and simpler, yet just as deadly.

"Come in." Morgan moved his inquisitive stare from observing Puck's reaction to the door.

"Aaaah, Berry. Nice of you to show up." There was an almost grand-fatherly warmth in Morgan's voice that made Puck look up.

"Berry, meet your new partner, Noah Puckerman."

With a gasp, Noah turned around and was dumbstruck.

"Well, fuck me sideways!" he mumbled.

There in front of him stood, in all her 5'2 glory, his pint-sized ex-girlfriend, the knee-sock-wearing, show-tune-belting, slushie-facial-receiving former dictatoress of the Glee Club, Rachel Berry, in a functional but modest business-suit, complete with a dark green shirt, a golden badge and a gun at her belt, and a deeply sarcastic smirk on her face.

"I'd really rather not, at least not before dinner."

_So, whaddaya think? Love it, hate it, hate it, love it? Review, people ^^ I'm feeling inspired right now, so updates can be fairly frequently =)_


	2. Chapter 2

_Seems to me as though there's a lack of Aus….I don't know, I'll just keep writing until inspiration runs out, thanks for all the great reviews =) Yeah, the whole knowing each other bit sort of happened at the end because I really wanted to fit the last line in ^^ _

_Btw., I know this might be slightly confusing, but I've decided to switch tenses, it just seems easier to write in simple past, rather than present…_

_Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me.  
_

By the time, Puck got his act back together; Rachel was leading him towards the garage on their way to their first crime-scene in his first case as Rachel's partner. The file he's supposed to read was dangling uselessly from his hand and he felt a bit like a puppy, wandering after Rachel with no clue what's going on or how to get out of this twilight-zone.

Ten minutes later he finally felt as though he could open his mouth without the first word being a very intelligent "Huh?!?"

"So, Berry, how come you joined the boys in blue?" He studied her in his peripheral vision and saw her knuckles briefly tightening around the steering wheel.

"I look fantastic in blue." She quipped back, earning a scoff.

"Knee-socks ain't part of the uniform, though."

"Found that out, too, why do you think I became a detective." Abruptly she changed the subject.

"So, what do we know about the case?" He wanted to keep asking her; curious about how the girl who was dead-set on getting up on stage now spends her days trudging through the seedy sludge mankind has produced in New York. But there was something harsh about her jaw-line that made him back off. Puck turned back towards the file.

"Jason Stockton, 52, killed in his apartment on the Upper Eastside." He chuckled.  
"Fuck's sake, dude was an Investment-Banker. We pick a random douche of the street he'll gladly take credit!" Rachel gave him an exasperated look, a little of the old crazy-girl shining through.

"Anyways, Daughter came home this morning, found Daddy lying on the floor, called the cops. Looks like a regular B&E gone south" He kept his eyes on the file, receiving only a non-committal grunt as reply.

"Wow, I thought I was the one doing the grunting 'round here. What happened to batshit-crazy rant-about-everything Berry?" His jab was intended to break the ice, instead he found himself pressed slightly into his seat, as Rachel sped up and swerved around the next corner aggressively.

"She grew up, and I suggest you do the same, Puckerman, and stay the hell out of my business." Her voice was harsh and he felt the temperature drop a few notches.

"Sheesh, calm down, sorry, didn't mean to piss you off…" He fell silent.  
"You just seem different, n shit…"  
"No shit Sherlock, you haven't seen me since graduation and I seem different. Your observational skills really are exceptional; no wonder you are a Detective." Her Sarcasm was biting and unfamiliar, but the five-dollar words he always made fun of were still there, buried somewhere beneath the shell. Somehow, that thought warmed him a little. Still, her joking about his job stung a little, he had worked hard to get where he was today.

"They must be almost as good as your singing, seeing as you are a big Broadway-star . . . oh, wait!" Her knuckles turned white and he had the inkling that he might just have pushed a little too far.

With screeching tires, Rachel turned into their destined street and slid into a parking spot a few houses down from the crime scene. The rapid maneuver had Puck clutching the hand-held tightly and he turned to her with rapid breathing.

"Fuckin' hell woman! You coulda hit a fucking tree!" She ignored his outburst and her eyes were burning into his, the fury in them enough to stop him from continuing to berate her.

"Listen up, Puckerman, and listen well! I got to where I am now by hard work, and I have no idea how you managed to do that, but hey, you're here and we both have to live with that. Now, you stay the fuck out of my business and we might actually get this case solved, after that, hell, I don't give a shit if you go back to busting your little pod-pushers down in the Bronx. I don't give a flying fuck about your feelings or what the hell you think of me, you stay out of my business, you don't get in my way and you keep the fuck to yourself or I'll have your ass doing admin-duty, got that? Good!" Without waiting for a reply, Rachel threw her door open and left him sitting there, staring stupidly after her. Rachel Berry just tore him a new one, this had to be fucking Twilight-zone!

He scrambled after her, but hell, for a midget she sure was fast. By the time he has caught up with her, she was kneeling down and conversing with a young-looking dude. Pretty much everything about the guy screamed geek, the slightly longish haircut, the pale skin and the frameless glasses…plus, of course, the vest which had M.E. written in bold white letters on the back.

". . .pretty much crushed his frontal lobe, so there was considerable force behind it. I will have more for you when I have him on my table."

"Thanks Mike. I'll stop by in the afternoon, then." Rachel smiled at the guy, who blushed and awkwardly pushed his glasses back up his nose.

"Ok, Rach. I should be done by then." They both got up and Puck couldn't help but let his eyes briefly drift to his ex's behind.

When they both made their way towards him, his eyes flew back to her face, but neither was looking at him.

Mike laid a hand on Rachel's shoulder.  
"Be careful out there, I don't want to have to stitch you back up again."

"You are better than any doctor of the living, Mike." She gave him a grateful smile, causing Mike to turn even redder. Puck had to snicker at the obvious hero-worship Mike directed towards Rachel, causing both to turn to him. Rachel scowled automatically, while the M.E. regards him with curiosity and stretches out a hand for him to shake.

"Hey, Mike Delaney, M.E. I take it, you are Rach's new partner."  
Puck took the hand and gave it an enthusiastic shake. Nothing like making friends on the first day.

"Noah Puckerman, and yeah, that's me. Transferred up from Narco this morning."

"Well, I hope Homicide is making you comfortable…well, no that came out wrong." The awkward blush came back, coupled with a sheepish look.

Puck smirked.

"A-ok so far. Really a pleasure, specially seein' Berry here again." Puck slung an arm around Rachel's shoulders, ignoring their previous spat. Delaney looked confused for a minute.

"oh, you two know each other?"

"Hellyeah, Berry and me used to be like this!" he crossed his fingers. "There was even this one week – off!" he bent over when her elbow hits him hard.

"Thanks Mike! We'll see you later!" With a last smile at the geek, Rachel walked off, not even caring of Puck follows or not.

"See ya later, Rach!" With a cheerful wave, Mike disappeared down the stairs, black body bag in tow. Puck had always wondered why it's the only people who spend more time with the dead people than the cops on the case, who are also always the happiest.

"Puckerman! Get your ass back here!" The bark startled him back to reality.

With a huff, he joined Rachel where she was standing in their Vic's living room, calmly talking to a young woman. The Vic's daughter, he assumed. She looked to be about 23, blonde hair, and dressed in expensive looking clothes. Her blonde hair was kept in a tight pony-tail, and her fingers, topped with pink nails, were playing with the pearls studding her neck. Real ones, he deduced from the D&G label of her stylish pink coat. Everything about her screamed money. Her face had only slight mascara-stains; the rest of her make-up seemed to have remained in place.

"Noah Puckerman, this is Mrs. Stockton, our victim's wife. Mrs. Stockton, my Partner, Detective Puckerman." To Rachel's credit, she only blinked when she says wife. Obviously somebody got the file screwed up. Puck gave their witness a solemn nod.

"I'm sorry for your loss, ma'am." She delicately dabbed her eyes with a pastel-pink handkerchief. Puck spotted the stitched-in monogram in the bottom corner.

"This is just so devastating. . . I mean, Jason had no enemies; he was such a friendly and lovable man. Always generous!" She hiccupped. "We had been married for four years, just last week we flew to Paris to celebrate my 26th birthday and our anniversary. He seemed so . . . happy!" More delicate eye-dabbing. Rachel was a picture of sympathy, while Puck put a solemn mask on his face, never stopping the studying of her body language or considering the fact that Stockton must have been a god in the sack to bag a 22-year old who looks like a slightly bitchier version of Heidi Klum.

"Mrs. Stockton, can you really not think of anyone who might hold a grudge against your husband? As I understand, in his profession it is not uncommon to have enemies. . ." she trailed off suggestively.

Hell, this woman even blew her nose delicately, Puck thought. The words "Trophy-wife" and "Gold Digger" sprung to his mind, but his mask was kept carefully in place.

"Mrs. Stockton" his soft baritone caught her attention easily. "How was your husband dealing with the economy these days? Any change in his behavior you noticed? Did he work longer hours, did he seem more stressed?" She looked at him with big blue eyes (he felt eerily reminded of a doll).

"Well, now that you mention it, he was a bit more short-tempered lately. And he was often on the phone, with Brian, his business partner…they seemed to fight a lot." A fresh batch of tears cut her off. Rachel did her best to console the poor woman.

"Do you by chance know the full name of said business partner?"

Hiccups, coupled with a loud wail were her answer.

"Aaaah, right…" Rachel looked lost for a minute, before waving at a Uniform.

"Bakers, stay with Mrs. Stockton here, Puck and I have to get going." She turned to the spluttering woman before her and calmly gave her a white paper-rectangle. "Mrs. Stockton should you need anything or remember anything else, please call me."

Without further ado, Rachel strode out of the apartment and back to the stairs.

For a few minutes, Puck followed her in silence, before he could no longer bear it.

"Soooo, what's the next step?"

"I thought that would be obvious…"

"I spent the last ten years chasing perps who were still alive. . . I'm not quite sure what do when one of them ends up dead. . ."

Rachel shot him a smirk.

"Noah Puckerman, admitting he has no clue what to do. Somebody call the Post, we need a billboard on Times Square, quick!"

He huffed.

"Berry, anyone ever tell you, you're really not all that funny?"

"Puck, I'm disappointed. Ten years of not seeing me and THAT is the entire comeback you can muster? Ah, wait, I forgot, they were bad in high School as well, silly me, I actually thought you learned something during the last decade or so." Somehow, this banter felt different, almost friendly. The tension of the morning seemed temporarily on hold.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up while you can, Berry." After a few more seconds in which they had reached their car and gotten in, Rachel driving naturally, he asked again.

"So, what's the plan, Berry?"

"Why, Puck, it's not all that different from what you do in Narco…" she drawled.

"We find the bad guy and arrest him!" He groaned. Great, somebody had turned Rachel Berry into a wise-ass . . . this was gonna be fun.

_So, whaddaya think? I apologize for any spelling and grammar mistakes, english is not my mothertongue, I was merely educated in it for the past four years ^^_

_I noticed a lot of you guys liked this scenario, and I am thinking of putting up random one-shots, slightly different universe. _

_in addition, I am afraid I have to apologize for not replying directly to reviews. To be honest, I usually have a few chapters written in advance, so I tend to just post them whenever I get the time. Doesn't mean I don't read your reviews though, I do, and I try my best to incorporate as many suggestions as possible, just replying directly is kinda tricky =) _

_this story though is right now coming along fine =)_

_read and review, as always, _

_PB  
_


	3. Chapter 3

NYPD GLEE CHAPTER 3

Half an hour later they were sitting calmly in an old Mom & Pop Diner around the corner from the precinct, digging into their respective meals with gusto.

After half his pancakes were gone, Puck decided to end the comfortable silence between them.

"Look, I'm sorry about earlier. I was a douche, and I'm sorry. You're an awesome singer, and you know it." He gave her a grin. "I figured I'd be seeing your face on billboards 'round the city one day." He said.

"It just wasn't meant to be, I guess. I did the whole Broadway-thing for a few years, but it felt empty after a while." She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable.

"What about you? What happened to the great Noah Puckerman, stud of McKinley, a woman in every . . . well, I was going to say harbor, but street of Lima seems more appropriate." Her teasing smile took the zing from her words.

"Maddie happened…" He looked at her. Rachel had been there during the whole baby-gate debacle of course.

"After her, I kinda realized that there was no way I would want a guy like me getting anywhere near my daughter. So I figured I'd clean up my act, got myself to Ohio State and joined the force straight outta College." He shrugged sheepishly. "I was a jerk. If it weren't for my little girl, I'd probably be one of the guys I busted daily in Narco." He grabbed his wallet and pulled out a picture. He gave it to her.

"This is Maddie and me during Christmas last year." In the picture, a Mohawk-less Noah Puckerman was being hugged by a small girl, around 11. Her hair was a dark brown and two pairs of the same eyes looked at Rachel with the same mischievous smile. She grinned slightly.

"She seems happy." Puck's grin radiated with pride and joy.

"She is. Rhonda and Paul let me come over whenever I'm back home. I'm a friend of the family." He smiled.

"Apropos Lima, have you heard from any of the old gang?" Rachel pushed the picture back to him.

"Well, I know Finn's still there, I bumped into him in the Supermarket last time I was home. Teaches geography of all things. Did you know he married Brittany?" Rachel shot him an incredulous look.

"No, I did not, actually. That coupling is a bit . . . scary, I admit. What happened to Quinn?"

"Streetworker in San Francisco, last I heard. Did the whole reformed Christian-thing for her parents till graduation, evened out the bitchiness, I s'pose. San's actually out there with her, lawyering her way 'round the valley." He couldn't help the suggestive eye-brow wiggle. Rachel hid a grin.

"What about Artie? I know Tina is here, we get together every few weeks for a drink with Matt." She said.

He raised his eyebrows at that.

"Artie's off doing his thing up in Washington. Got involved in politics while in College, I think he's now a Congressman or something? Seriously, when was the last time you went to Lima, Berry?" He chuckled, until he noticed that Rachel had a bitter smile on her face.

"There's not much reason for me to go back. My parents don't live there anymore; neither do any of my friends." She shrugged. "I moved on, I guess."

Wisely, he picked up on her distinct lack of enthusiasm when it came to this specific topic and switched easily.

"So, you meet with Tina every few weeks?" He asked.

"Yeah, she went to NYU with me, got married a few years ago, I was actually her maid of honor." Puck smirked at the thought of Rachel in a poofy dress.

"Who's her husband?"

"Matt, actually. He came out a few years after us with his firm, looked me up for a drink, I brought Tina along and they really hit it off. Their second child is due in November, I think." He was surprised. Rutherford going for the Goth? He didn't think he'd ever seen them talking during high school.

"Seriously? Rutherford and the Goth chick? That's kinda. . . hmmm…" He remembered he really didn't know these people all that well anymore. After all, it had been ten years since he had seen the woman he was now calmly having lunch with.

"Yeah, I know. At first I was quite surprised myself, but they've both changed a lot, and are happy. You should come along next time we meet, I'm sure they'd be happy to see you!" Rachel drank the last of her coke and wiped her hands with the napkin provided.

"So, Berry, what about you? Got any significant other in your life? A hot stud perhaps? I mean, you had the Puckerone for a week, it's only normal to desperately seek something similar, though I gotta tell ya, nothin' beats the original!"

She scoffed.

"That, Puckerman, is none of your business. And trust me; while you might have been exceptional in Ohio, I've had plenty of better ones in the last decade. But hey, maybe you learned a thing or two, who knows, you might just have to convince me again."

She winked at him, before putting money on the bar and leaving him sitting there, staring at her ass as she sashayed outside and strode confidently towards the precinct.

Only when he heard a loud whistle did he jump up and sprint out the door. Somehow, he felt he was going to spend most of the time as Rachel's Partner actually trying to catch up with her. But hey, he had always liked the chase.


	4. Chapter 4

NYPD GLEE CHAPTER 4

It was a scant hour later that Puck found himself beside Rachel once more, driving through New York towards the high-rise offices of Stockton, Burnham & Walters to interview Brian Walters. The website had proudly proclaimed the slogan "Investment-Bankers you can trust", making Puck scoff loudly.

Right now, he was more scared of Rachel's driving skills. She drove like an epileptic blind chick sittin' on a bunch of bees in a warzone.

"Fuck's sake, Berry, I'd like to get there in one piece if you don't mind!" He shouted.

"Stop complaining, at least we are getting there today! I let you drive for ten minutes and you got us all the way around the block and back. Not exactly something I would advertise!" She snapped back. Somehow they seemed to flit effortlessly between calm, even friendly conversation and being at each other's throats.

"If you had given me the right directions, I wouldn't have had to circle around, now would I!" he argued.

"I told you left, left is where the thumb's right, were you sick the day of that lesson or were you too busy banging the nurse?" It occurred to Puck that a Rachel Berry who did not pull any punches and was no longer quite as easily flustered could be an awfully dangerous thing.

"I turned left, it's not my fault that lane directed us back the way we came!"

"Yeah, right. Just admit it, if I had let you drive, we still wouldn't be here." The car stopped in front of a tall skyscraper. Mr.'s Stockton, Burnham and Walters had obviously done well for themselves.

By the time Puck had finished that thought, Rachel had once more left him sitting on his own in the car. With an annoyed huff, he ran after her.

Huffing, he managed to just get into the elevator with her.

"Seriously midget, what's up with you and ditching me?" He wheezed.

"I'm not all that keen on keeping the company of people who use my diminutive size to insult me, imagine that." Came the dry reply.

"Whatever, Tiny Tim. I'm your partner, stop leaving me sitting in the car like some pet." He grumbled.

"Trust me; if you were my pet, I'd have had you neutered a long time ago." She deadpanned.

The Businessman standing in front of them chortled at that.

"Hey, Nosy, didn't your momma tell you eavesdropping's not nice?" He glared at the back of the man's head. Yet somehow these Wall street-types were not all that intimidated by his usual methods. Instead of folding like a wet piece of paper, the guy simply turns around and sneers.

"Hey, jackass, didn't your mother ever tell you not to mess with people who could probably buy your flat a few times over?" Puck looked stunned for a second, until the guy had the nerve to hit on Rachel. With a slimy grin, he grabbed her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

"Jeremy Burnham, a pleasure. Now, what is such an exquisite creature such as you doing with such a . . . specimen as this charming young gentleman here?" He openly leered at her.

Rachel for her part just smiled sweetly and pulled her hand away. As if by accident, her palm came to rest on her hip, pushing back her blazer and exposing both badge and gun-holster.

"I'm afraid we're here on business, Mr. Burnham. With you, even. I'm Detective Berry, this is Detective Puckerman." The jerk's smile had wavered for a second when he saw gun and badge. When Rachel mentioned business however, his smarm-factor increases. Unknowingly, Puck stepped closer to her, his hand resting on the butt of his gun as well. He couldn't help but notice that Rachel had not introduced him as her partner

The tense moment was broken when the elevator dinged and the doors opened on the appropriate floor.

"Should we maybe continue this discussion inside?" He gestured grandly, as if the two detectives would need his permission.

Puck was about to give a snappy response, when Rachel interrupted politely.

"Actually, Mr. Burnham, if it isn't too much trouble, we really would like to speak to Mr. Walters first."

"Of course, right through here." He led them through glass doors into a small lobby for an office. An older woman sat behind a desk, typing away at a computer. When Burnham entered, she shot him a look of thinly veiled disgust.

"Mrs. Woyczek, these detectives would like to have a word with Brian, if that is possible?" The look he gave the secretary clearly stated that it would be possible, regardless of her input.

"Of course, Mr. Burnham." She pressed the Intercom.

"Mr. Walters, there are some Detectives here to see you."

"_Send them in, Martha."_ Came the metallic response.

With a last predatory smile at Rachel and a smug and challenging look at Puck, Burnham left them.

Brian Walters turned out to be a tall, very attractive man around 39. He was well-built and obviously took very good care of himself. His hair-cut looked to be of the hundred-dollar variety and his skin was naturally tanned. His suit was well-tailored and the fact that he stood up as soon as he spotted Rachel showed his good manners. In addition, the shelves filled with books such as Tolstoy or Nietzsche showed him to be more than just a pretty face.

Only problem was, after opening his mouth, Puck was convinced that he knew it, too.

To his credit, Walters' glance did not linger on Rachel in the slightest, very much different from Burnham.

"So, I take it you are here because of Jason. Sarah called me this morning in hysterics. She and Jason had just gotten back from Paris, tragic, such a thing." He shook his head sadly.

"He was such a good man. Always generous and giving. You know, we pride ourselves here at Stockton, Burnham and Walters to only hire well-rounded individuals. All that shark-talk and the heavy competition only prevents us from doing what is best for our clients." Even his smile seemed perfect. Puck barely stopped himself from growling.

Rachel seemed to eat it up and gave him an understanding smile.

"Yes, we heard similar things from Mrs. Stockton, Mr. Walters. A tragedy, really. She also mentioned that you two had been fighting on the phone a lot more recently?" Her innocent tone threw him off and the perfect façade briefly crumbled.

"We were not really fighting, more arguing, if you will. Jason had made a few business decisions I did not agree with, we discussed it, it got heated, and that's it. Certainly nothing worth killing someone over, if that is what you are suggesting." His dark blue eyes rested on Puck, who felt urged to reply.

"Well, I've seen people do a lot worse for a lot less …" he replied.

Rachel gave him an admonishing glance.

"We are simply checking all our bases. What was your relationship in general like?"

"We were good friends. Jason was actually my professor at Stanford, for business. We became friends over a few drinks throughout the years. Ten years ago we decided to go into business, together with Rob, whom you have met I assume. I was there for him when his first wife died, and I was one of his groom's men at his and Sarah's wedding four years ago. We played golf, every Sunday." Walters' voice was calm throughout his speech.

Rachel jotted everything down on a note-pad. Puck had to cover a snort at her obvious liking of Walters' story.

"So, Mr. Walters" he broke in "can you think of anyone besides you who would have had a motive for killing your partner?" Walters looked indignant for a second at even being considered a suspect.

"Well, our trade is not exactly known for happiness all around. I can send you our financial records; you should be able to find anything you need to know in there." He fell silent for a minute.

"Oh, and of course there is Riley."

Both Rachel and Puck looked slightly confused at that.

"I'm sorry, Riley, you said?"

"Yes, Riley." An arrogant smile stole its way on his face. Puck felt the urge to grab the stapler and staple it off permanently.

"Riley Woodrow, he took his mother's last name. Jason's son from his first marriage. He is, I think 27? He owns a carpenter's shop, somewhere in the Village. Fancies himself an Artist." An amused chortle resounded from Walters' throat.

With a polite smile, Puck and Rachel nodded, left their cards and took the elevator back down to the ground floor.

"God, I hated those guys! If our Vic was as decent as these douche-bags make him sound, what the hell was he doing with them in business? Bluach!" He shuddered.

"I agree. I feel like I should shower at least ten times." Puck looked at her incredulously.

"What the fuck, Berry? You were basically drooling the entire time Walters was talking! Hell, I'm surprised if you didn't cause water stains at the ceiling below!" She huffed indignantly.

"It's called acting, you Idiot! You do still have a somewhat functioning brain, or did you shave that off too, when you acquired that ridiculous hairstyle?" It took him a few seconds to understand she was referring to his Mohawk back in high school and not the slightly tousled locks he was sporting right now.

"Hey, stop calling me stupid, alright? I'm not Finn, for Christ's sake!"

"I would hope not, otherwise you'd be a jerk and stupid, imagine what that would say about the tastes of Lima's middle-aged house-wife population!"

"Screw you, Berry! Who the fuck are you to judge my lifestyle! You don't know nothing about me!"

"I know enough to realize that you're a giant pain in the ass with no clue how to do proper detective work! You openly hostile and belligerent in there! Dammit, we need these people later on! I realize these are not your usual geniuses who sell heroin or crack in broad daylight and break under the slightest pressure, but dammit Puckerman, you better stop pissing off witnesses and messing with my case!" By now she was shouting at him.

"Oh, your case, is it? I'm your fucking partner, Berry! You may not like it, fuck, you might even hate this and me right along, but don't tell me how to do my job! I'm the pain in the ass? Hell, you've been ready to rip me a new one from the get go! All you do is judge and tell me what I do wrong! Fuck's sake, I'm not the one compromising this investigation because I can't keep it in my pants! No wonder your last Partner ditched you!"

A resounding slap could be heard around the cabin. Puck felt the sting on his face and knew he would feel that one for a few more hours. He knew he had crossed a line with that last sentence, but dammit if she didn't get him angry enough to do shit like that.

Rachel stood across from him, her eyes burning with anger.

Both their chests were heaving from shouting. Puck honestly didn't know what made him do it. Was it the way the artificial light hit her hair? Was it the fact that this one day with her had him on an emotional rollercoaster more exciting than Magic Mountain? Was it just seeing something from his past again?

He didn't know and he didn't care, he just knew one minute they were standing opposite each other, ready to tear each other's throats out, the next he had her backed into the nearest wall and they were making out like the teenagers they once were.


End file.
